Don't Cage the Foxe

Chapter 2

There was a knock at the door at twelve o'clock, when I was running late for an archery class--only due to the mysterious disappearance of Mrs. Avalos the entire week. It threw things unexpectedly off kilter, as if I was a shark swimming with one fun. Going, but not going well.

My mom had suggested a shrink. "Maybe it's just your OCD acting again," she said absentmindedly, juggling between folders of work and her purse, her coffee in hand and a bagel in the other. "You haven't seen Dr. Miles in a few months now, right?"

Two years, actually, but I held my tongue.

It wasn't just the disappearance of Mrs. Avalos that was upsetting, but rather the last day I had seen her; she had been different. In the first time since I'd known her, the old lady had stopped, stared at me with a strange, off smile.

"You've grown into a beautiful young lady, Brynne," she said. Her eyes were clear. "You should wear blue more often, it brings out the color of your eyes."

And then she was swept away, on that same trail, and I could only stare at her retreating back.

"No," I said to my mom. She had been busy as usual, hustling between the job and taking care of dad. "It's not that." Something is missing. Something was wrong.

My mom's face twisted with annoyance. "Just let it go then, if it's not anything important." She shook her head and headed towards the door for work. "There's better things to worry about than some old lady."

But I couldn't shake it off.

And now, when I was waiting for Mrs. Avalos to saunter with that poodle of hers and her bouncy hair, and I was late gathering my bow and arrows, I almost dropped everything when I heard that knock.

A single, firm knock.

When I didn't move, there was another, two: Knock. Knock.

Then a doorbell rang, echoing inside the house with a cheery bell. Doubts raced in my mind, and I held onto my arrows tight as I crept to the door and peeked out through the peephole. A fish bowled, big-headed version of a human with dark curly hair peeked at the door. It was almost comical, being so close to the door, his eyes seeming too big and his body a tiny needlepoint for a bulbous head.

Another rapid succession of knocks. Heavier. I quickly opened the door, almost too quickly, leaving the man in mid-knock.

I was surprised at how young he was, perhaps nineteen or twenty, his curls in a mess atop his now normal-sized head. He was tanned from outdoors, a splattering of freckles dotting his nose. He was tall, another thing I noticed. Almost too tall.
But his eyes seemed to burn endlessly, a cold silver that shivered up my spine. He was furious.

"Hi," I said first.

"I'm looking for Brynne Moreau," said the man flatly. Annoyed.

"That is I," I said, and cringed.

The man's brow furrowed for a moment, his expression mostly blank as he stood like a heavy shadow on the bright path of the doorway. He was wearing a simple plain tee and jeans despite the encroaching heat.

His expression darkened then, taking into account the house that could be seen over my shoulder, and I closed the door slightly, cutting his view.

"What do you want?" I said, annoyed. I was late for my lesson, and this man wasn't helping.

"And to think my grandmother entrusted you with her money," he gritted out. His gray eyes narrowed and swept over me with disgust. "Were you even there? Did you even talk to her? Or did you just want to become friendly with a little old, poor woman about to die to get her fucking money?"